Tell This Tale
by namone
Summary: Waking up next to Kurt is like it should be - breathtaking and warm and not at all sad.


**__Notes:** I got stuck writing Someday You Will Wake up and this just jumped at me. Title borrowed from Ane Brun's song Oh Love. Hunt it down and love it.

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><p><em>Tell This Tale<em>

It's spring. Cold, cold spring. And Blaine could come up with at least six overused ways to word how it indeed is not cold at all in Kurt Hummel's bed.

But he won't.

At least not out loud. Because Kurt is sleeping and there simply is no sense in doing anything else than watching him through heavy eyelids.

Blaine just woke up, a little overheated, too deeply asleep to have moved the blanket from where it is tucked over his shoulders.

He'd forgotten for a quick moment, started to pull off the covers in a hurry before he had turned his head and seen Kurt splayed out next to him, and he settles for turning to his side and sneaking his feet out into the air.

Blaine doesn't think he'll ever get used to this sight.

His heart jolts a little as he realizes that he's actually lost count of how many times he's woken up next to Kurt. First it's a little panicky – because every time is special and surely he should remember them all.

Then he smiles, because a) Kurt would probably think it was a little bit questionable if he counted all the times they had sex and b) the fact that there has been enough times, that this can be a kind of normal, it's more than he can wrap his mind around.

So he just lays there, trying not to think too hard, just existing in this peaceful and timeless place.

He really is gorgeous, Kurt.

His eyelids flutter a little, as if he's dreaming, but otherwise he's completely relaxed, lips barely parted. Blaine relishes the thought that he's the only one who has seen Kurt like this, at least the only one who appreciates it the way he does, and yes, the only one who _sees_ him like this. Kurt looks so soft, pale skin smooth over bones and not a hint of self-consciousness. He's soft but strong, untouchable if you so will.

Expect – Blaine can touch. And he knows that Kurt is a light sleeper but Blaine's hands are warm and never anything but gentle. Slowly he sweeps a strand of hair away from Kurt's temple. Most of his hair is impressively intact, volume on top of his head. But a few bangs lay unruly and Blaine suspects it's quite mussed in the back against the pillow. Blaine almost blushes, but not out of embarrassment.

It's just not quite right though, putting curls of hair into place, removing evidence and perfecting what needs not to be perfected.

Carefully, carefully Blaine hovers his fingers over Kurt's collarbone, not actually touching but close enough to feel his body heat, tiny sparks of energy radiating through his fingertips and into his marrow.

It's sounds like exaggerations, but Blaine is in love, and everything about Kurt soars through his bones and lands behind his ribcage. It is absolutely exhausting, like growing too fast and not really knowing what to do with yourself. Blaine tries not to be clumsy, but he's still settling into his expanded heart and he thinks that maybe loving someone like he loves Kurt will keep you from stop growing – a constant reminder of your own humanity.

Anyway.

There is a distinct mark in the vague shape of Blaine's lips in the middle of Kurt's clavicle, and Blaine can't resist stroking his thumb over it.

Then it's quite hard to stop.

He lets all his fingers travel over the bruise, landing on the opposite side without any pressure at all. He does it again and wonders why he finds a blemish on impeccable skin so beautiful and if he should feel guilty about it. But then he looks up at Kurt's face, eyes lingering on his mouth which he could have sworn he saw twitching ever so slightly, like an internal smile, and knows that a mark is still a mark is still an impeccable piece of skin, just different and put there for a reason. And it makes Blaine think of how Kurt had stroked his neck, twining his finger's in Blaine's hair and stretching out his own neck, exposing possibilities of change. How he had giggled with his breath caught in his throat, right about here...

Blaine traces a tendon up to Kurt's jaw and hopes it doesn't tickle. He brushes along the underside of his chin, stubble tingling under the pads of his fingers and into his heart and he's not quite sure why but suddenly he feels like he's falling, falling all over again and it almost hurts. He swallows.

As on cue, just when Blaine withdraws his hand because what he really wants is to cling to him, hopefully never let go, Kurt's jaw clenches and he inhales deeply. Blaine slides his arm under the duvet again, already too cold, and wraps it around Kurt's waist. It's safe and warm and he's a little impatient and overwhelmed, but to have Kurt's skin pressed all along his underarm makes it better. The warmth and movements as he breathes are like reminders – proves that he's actually there.

So Blaine waits. Not counting Kurt's eyelashes because that is borderline creepy and they're too many anyway, but also not closing his eyes because he keeps blinking, capturing this picture.

It's like no time at all has passed when he rather feels than sees Kurt shifting out of sleep.

His entire body stretches out and he scrunches up his nose a couple of times, eyes still closed when he licks his lips and Blaine still waits because... there it is.

Kurt stops.

It's the moment when Kurt realizes he's not alone, right before he opens his eyes and they fall upon Blaine, fall _through_ Blaine.

And then he relaxes, the muscle under Blaine's elbow softening and this is his favorite part – how Kurt blinks lazily at him and how the small crease by the corner of his mouth appears.

Blaine smiles back and huddles in a little bit closer, pressed up against Kurt's side so that he can kiss his shoulder and still look up at him.

"G'morning, beautiful," Blaine says because it feels right, even though his voice is raspy with sleep and he hadn't realized how dry his mouth was until now.

Kurt snorts but his smile is sincere and _beautiful_ isn't really fair.

"Good morning," he says and scoots down a little. He puts a hand over his mouth and yawns and Blaine is pretty sure he hears his jaw snapping.

"Are you tired?" he asks a little stupidly. They haven't slept for many hours, the solemn streams of sunbeams falling through the half open curtains a tell-tell sign of early morning. Kurt just hums and turns to his side, facing Blaine. He reaches out, stroking his hand through Blaine's hair a couple of times.

Blaine has goosebumps on the back of his neck and that's where Kurt's hand comes to rest. Kurt blinks slowly, as if he's struggling to open them every time.

It's a losing battle.

Blaine is not sure if he's sleeping or not, because even though Kurt's fingers still are petting lightly at the roots of his hair, it's absentmindedly, perhaps something that doesn't need conscious purpose. That wouldn't be such a bad thing, Blaine thinks and lets his eyes slip closed as well, suddenly heavy and soothed with love.

"Tell me about New York," he whispers.

But it's not like you think.

It's not with regret and premature nostalgia. It's with longing, with the kind that comes with a promise.

Kurt knows this and that's why Blaine doesn't open his eyes, doesn't try to explain. He doesn't even know if Kurt heard him but he must have because now he's speaking, telling stories that really are just scraps of dreams and imagination.

The truth lies in the fact that Kurt is moving to New York, and before Blaine gets to follow him, he gets to visit.

Maybe they will walk through Soho, maybe they will eat breakfast at a café, maybe they will afford to go to a Broadway show, maybe Kurt's wardrobe will have doubled within a year, maybe they can rehearse lines when there's an audition, maybe they will meet new friends with names like Lawrence and Sally and maybe they will have a favorite restaurant and maybe, maybe, maybe, followed by a thousand clichés that could be true, probably will because all it takes is planning.

At least that's what they're telling themselves, and they've planned so many scenarios that they can't help but to honestly believe that some of them will come true.

Once they spoke about breaking up instead, and they had ended up exactly where they are now – building bridges with matches, momentarily scared that their love would set it on fire.

Because, and Blaine thinks about this as Kurt talks (about postcards and museums, collections on the kitchen walls), the only way he can see this fucking up, is by loving Kurt too much. By missing him until it not only hurts him but them, until there is bitterness on his lips and at last – distance between mind and heart. He knows they won't manage if they rely on love itself, life is too big and too messy to be tamed by such sweetness. But if they can hold on, because _you are my best friend,_ Blaine thinks and slides his knuckles over the inside of Kurt's arm, and let the good come with the bad, it has to be durable.

Kurt stops mid-sentence and Blaine doesn't try to finish it. This is not a gap. It's a moment that hangs heavy in the air between them and it's not until Kurt's squeezes Blaine's wrist a little that he realizes that he'd been staring at the crook of Kurt's elbow for some time now. He tears his eyes away, almost sighing of relief at how easy it it to meet Kurt's curious and calm gaze instead. It's not so much sighing as it is inhaling the same air as Kurt, and the warning bells for _counting the days_ should go off but they don't, because he's always liked breathing the same air as Kurt, breathing in Kurt. Kurt going away doesn't change any of that, doesn't make the taste of oxygen any different. Because if it did they'd be in trouble.

Blaine is fully aware that trouble is around a very round corner.

So Blaine breathes, and then Kurt says something that is beyond maybe and beyond someday and what if...

"I love waking up next to you."

Blaine could think about all the coming days which he won't wake up next to Kurt, even here in Ohio. A twinge of him does, it's the part of him that will always ache because there will never be enough Kurt in eighteen year old Blaine's life. Not as a whole and not when he's alone. But right now, in this very second, Blaine gets to hold his breath in a moment that doesn't need to end. Because it's a statement, what Kurt says. He is saying that right now, this, is the best place to be. He is saying that whatever lies ahead, this moment will forever be theirs.

Blaine doesn't need to answer, but he does need to kiss Kurt, slow as sleep and softer than whispers. He closes his eyes and knows that _someday_ is best woven in with_ right now_.

And with Kurt, right now goes straight into forever.

_end_


End file.
